


let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster

by violentdarlings



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe, Erik is a douche, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ordinary girl's account of falling in love with an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster

 An ordinary girl's account of falling in love with an angel.

Warnings: girl on girl, bad language, homophobia.

Disclaimer: Title taken from Panic! At The Disco's _Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off_.

* * *

**_let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster_ **

So, Meg was a lesbian.

That was the first thing people usually heard about her, but if they stuck around, they quickly learned it was merely one facet of her personality. Like, whatever. Meg didn't care, her mum didn't care, and Christine didn't care. People at school cared, though.

It all started in year eleven, right around the time half the girls in her grade had started getting serious with their boyfriends. The giggling had been enough to drive Meg to distraction but more than that, the whispers and over-dramatic moans about their boyfriends various attributes had only been a sharp reminder of what she felt was wrong with her. Meg just didn't like guys. Oh, she liked them well enough for a rousing session of PS3 and bowling, but getting naked together, or even kissing? Eurgh. The few times she had kissed boys, she had kind of wanted to beat her head on a brick wall. For a long time she had felt miserable and confused until a girl the grade above her had gently suggested she might be attracted to girls as well as guys - or rather, just girls. One thing lead to another and...

Meg had kissed boys before. Kissing Elizabeth Adams behind the sport shed at lunch time had felt far more natural, far easier. Lizzie's lips had been soft and sweet and cherry-flavoured, and the curves beneath her school uniform as Meg had pressed her against the shed had been far more appealing.

It hadn't taken Meg long after that to work out she was a lesbian, but it had taken her a lot longer to come to terms with it. Working out exactly who she had been attracted to had been the easy part; then came the shame and the fear and the misery and the confusion all wrapped up in one hideous, many headed monster known as coming out. Meg had retreated into a mental bubble of thought to nut out the problem. As for Elizabeth, she had been nice, but shortly after she had met a girl who went to uni across the road and they had become an item. Plus, Meg really didn't want to date Elizabeth, who for all her prettiness and kindness had decidedly not been her type. She had to work out who she was and what she wanted, after all, and she had to do it on her own.

But Meg had emerged the beginning of her final year of high school happy, not blatantly overt about her sexuality but not bothering to hide it either. Through all her self-criticism and self analysis she had not told Christine, but the closeness of their friendship was such that Christine had noticed something was wrong. And so she had told her calm, pretty friend the first day back at school at lunch time. Christine had raised a dark eyebrow as if to say, "So?" and Meg had felt stupid for thinking Christine would care whether she liked boys or girls.

That sort of thing didn't really register for Christine. Christine cared about maths and music and her dad and Mr Renoir, and not much else. And Meg, of course. Christine cared about missing a maths test but not about the girls in the grade above teasing her for her long, slightly old-fashioned hairstyle. (Meg had been the one to spread the rumour about their supposed orgy with the football team. Sluts deserved it, anyway.) Christine had simply said that her dad liked it and she liked it and Mr Renoir liked it, and that was enough.

Sometimes, though, Meg thought Christine worried a little too much about pleasing Mr Renoir. When she had broached the subject, Chris had said simply, "He's so lonely, and all he cares about is my voice." Christine was the kind of sweet person who cared about stuff like that. Meg figured that if Mr Renoir was so lonely, he should stop being such a giant, creepy-ass douchebag. But she was aware that Christine was a far better person than she was. Christine was a better person than _everyone_.

They had not seen each other over the holidays. Christine had been ensconced with Mr Renoir for the vast majority of the break, hard at work at turning the exquisite instrument in her throat into a force to be reckoned with. The first thing Meg noticed about her was that she looked tired, and pale, and really fucking hot.

Meg threw her arms around Christine and hugged her tight, unsurprised to feel the embrace returned just as vigorously. "Missed you," she breathed into Christine's ear, and felt the sentiment returned.

"Get a room, lezzos!" called a passing boy - either football team or soccer team, maybe both, Meg guessed. She flipped him the bird.

"Jealous much, Paradizo?" she shouted back. Christine smiled, her usual airy smile when someone was being a dick and Chris was refusing to take any notice of it. And soon after they were called away to their separate classes and Meg didn't see Christine again until lunchtime.

"Good holiday, Chris?" Meg asked, unwrapping her sandwich. Christ, corned beef _again_.

"It would have been better if my best friend had been around," Christine replied, a faint unfamiliar edge to her voice. Meg felt the sandwich fall out of her hand and hit the table with a dull thud.

"Chris, I - "

"I just wish you'd have told me you'd gotten cooler friends and didn't want to hang out with me anymore." Meg gaped.

"I'm sorry?" Up until now Christine had been staring determinedly at her snack pack, but now she raised her eyes to Meg's. The hurt in them caused an unfamiliar stirring sensation in Meg's chest. Heartburn. Maybe.

"Lizzie Adams? Gemma Thorne? Abby Cornish? I saw you with them at Cafe Boatdeck two weeks ago." Meg winced, and did nothing to deny it. "I thought you didn't want to hang out with me anymore," Christine shrugged, but that element of hurt was still lingering behind her dark eyes. Meg choked.

"No, not at all! God, Chris, how you could ever - I mean - NO!" she finished, setting down her sandwich once and for all. "No, it's just - I'm a lesbian," she blurted, and immediately felt much better. No matter how Christine reacted, at least it was out in the open now.

Christine blinked. "Okay," she agreed, as though Meg had expressed interest in the new Short Stack album. Some people had called Christine simple once - actually, four boys called her a retard, and Meg had beaten three to a pulp and was starting in on the fourth by the time the teachers pulled her off them. Christine was smart, and funny, and one hundred percent all there, upstairs. Christine was just so pure, so kind. Hating someone based on sexuality probably didn't even occur to her, in the same way she talked to the special needs kids and went to maths club just because she liked maths. It was just part of how Christine was.

"Liz and Gem and Abby - they're all lesbians, Chris," Meg said, voice low and urgent. "They helped me work some stuff out. About me. And who I like. And stuff."

"I don't care who you like, Meg. You're my friend," Christine replied, and Meg wanted to kiss her with gratitude. Or, you know, unadulterated lust or something. But maybe gratitude. Definitely.

"So... you dating one of them?" Chris asked, finally starting in on her own sandwich. Meg shook her head.

"Nah, they're all too old for me. And Liz and Abby are dating, and Gemma has a girlfriend already. But... I'm not interested in dating right now, anyway. Year Twelve this year!"she said faux-chirpily, in the same way their teachers had been saying it all day, like it was something to be happy about.

Christine's head dropped down to hit the lunch table with a thunk. "Uh, don't remind me," she groaned, and just like that life was back to normal.

_xx_

It didn't stay that way for long. Celia Bew heard Meg tell Christine she was a lesbian, and Celia told her friends who told their friends and so on. By the end of the day - a scant two hours later - all of MacKillop High was aware Meg Giry, like, OMG, was a lez.

Meg coped with the stares, with the whispers and the pointing and the bullshit as patiently as she could. Sure enough, two weeks in the year, a couple of year ten boys were busted making out in the guys' toilets on the third floor, and just like that Meg was returned to relative obscurity. But not before the occurrence of a truly disturbing incident, one Meg aggravating enough to use as fodder for channelling her anger during lacrosse.

The boy was blond, with blue eyes and a complexion even Meg was forced to admit she kind of envied. Despite his somewhat baby face, he was nearly six feet tall and all muscle, an instant addition to the football team.

"Christine!" Meg and Christine were minding their business, leaning against Meg's locker and discussing box office movies for their play date on Saturday, when the shout came. Meg looked up instinctively, but Christine was already breaking into a wide smile by the time Meg identified the guy.

"Raoul!" Christine exclaimed in delight, hugging the boy in rapture. He returned the embrace happily. "Oh, Raoul, what are you doing here?"

"Transferred," he replied, holding Christine at arm's length to better look at her. Meg rolled her eyes. What a dick. "MacKillop High has a better Legal Studies course in Year 12, and you know how my dad is about me becoming a lawyer..."

Christine nodded. The fuck? How did she know about Raoul's no doubt weird-ass dad wanting his kid to be a lawyer? Meg was confused. And maybe pissed off. Luckily, she was saved from her inner monologue by Christine clasping her hands together - actually fucking clasping them, and staring up at Raoul with stars in her eyes.

"Oh Raoul, this is wonderful!" she gushed. He smiled.

"I know! It'll be just like before! Remember, when we were children, at the school by the sea?"

Meg tapped her toes. She had been there too. Raoul had been a snivelling, cringing boy, if she recalled correctly, trailing after his older brother like a puppy dog. She might have been a little biased, though, considering he always used to drag Christine off to play house when Meg wanted to make mud pies with her best friend. Douche.

But Christine was beaming. Bloody girl, Meg thought with fondness. She was kind to everyone. "Of course, Raoul!" she chirped happily. "You and me and Meg - " Meg and Raoul exchanged death glares over Christine's happy face. He broke eye contact first. "It was so much fun!" Christine concluded, big eyes starry.

Yeah, Meg thought. _That time I kicked him in the nuts for breaking my doll, that was real fun. Maybe I'll do it again._

_xx_

"Ooh, he likes you," Meg teased as they walked into Mr Renoir's house. Meg usually waited for Christine in the kitchen, doing her homework (occasionally) but most just reading Cosmo and messing up Mr Renoir's kitchen in tiny, subtle ways to piss him off. Usually the masked man was waiting for Christine in the music room, but today they were early and found him in the kitchen, drying mugs with his usual sense of weirdness.

"Shut up," Christine giggled. "He asked me out to dinner. That does not mean - " She fell silent when she saw her tutor. Meg sighed. Gone was fun Christine and it was time for music Christine to come out and play. Sighing, Meg sat down at the table and tugged out her history textbook as her friend and her friend's tutor disappeared down the hall.

Meg knew Christine loved music. Anyone with eyes could see that Christine loved music. And yeah, OK, Christine was an awesome singer, but she was so much more than that. But Christine also loved maths and chemistry, wanted to be a doctor if the whole performing gig didn't pan out so well. There was more to Christine than her voice, not that Mr Renoir seemed to notice. Christine missed so much school with Mr Renoir dragging her here and there for more training, for performances, just for long and wearisome practise sessions late into the night. Meg totally didn't get why Christine's dad didn't care, but she figured it was probably a music thing. Speaking of which...

Meg yanked out her earbuds in time to hear Christine's nervous voice.

"I have... a test, on Friday, it's important - "

That was an understatement. The test was massive and counted towards their end of year grade.

"This is what we've been working towards!" she heard Mr Renoir bellow. Meg winced, sensing Christine cringing into herself. She hated raised voices. "Would you miss this grand opportunity, this great triumph for something so trivial?"

"N-no, Maestro," Meg heard Christine whisper, and she jammed her headphones back into her ears in disgust. Christine always gave into her tutor.

Meg kind of really hated him sometimes. She knew what would come next without even listening. Mr Renoir would sigh, softening the glaring eyes through the mask, and place a broad hand on Christine's shoulder, saying something gentle and patronising about how she probably could make up the test. Christine would nod and Mr Renoir would do a little more touching before returning to his piano. He was a creepy old man - well, he wasn't _that_ old, Meg knew, but still. The way he was always touching Christine was disturbing given he was old enough to be her dad. Like, _ew_.

Chris emerged half an hour later, looking pale and exhausted. Meg shoved gum under Mr Renoir's kitchen table in revenge and escorted her friend home. "What's happening Friday?" she asked as she negotiated peak hour traffic. Christine sighed.

"Some performance," Christine replied, which was deeply out of character for her. She was usually so precise about music. Music and maths, Christine's true loves. "Somewhere downtown. Mr Renoir knows the owner or something."

"And you have to skip school for it?" Christine shrugged.

"The performance is at night, but Mr Renoir wants me to be there at midday to go over everything." Christine said this with an air of it being incontrovertible fact, absolutely necessary, even if Meg doubted it. But she was a supportive friend, so she merely nodded and was silent for a minute before something else occurred to her.

"Wasn't Friday night when your date with Raoul was gonna be?"

Christine bit her lip, and nodded. Meg exhaled sharply. Wow. Mr Renoir was a whole lot more calculating than she'd given him credit for.

"Well," Meg said loudly, trying to fill the silence, "at least you'll have me."

Christine's eyes were hopeful. "You'll come?" she asked. Meg grinned.

"Of course."

_xx_

As usual, Christine was perfect, and as the crowd remained on its feet, Meg sneaked out and found her way to her friend's dressing room.

"Girl, you were incredible!" she sang out enthusiastically, dropping a wrapped box of Milk Tray onto Christine's lap. Christine hated it when people brought her flowers, she always got sad thinking about the 'poor flower dying such a horrible death, wasting away, and honestly Meg they don't deserve that.' So it was Milk Tray and a hug, and somehow she wound up sitting very close to Christine as she unwrapped the present.

"Oh, Meg, you really think so?" And Christine was looking into her eyes and the room was really very small and -

The door slammed open.

"Christine!" Raoul de Chagny sang out exuberantly, dropping a bunch of roses onto the dressing table and kissing Christine on both cheeks. Fucking Frenchman and his fucking French charm. Meg wanted to thump him.

Christine, for her part, looked adorably confused. "Raoul? What are you doing here?"

Raoul rolled his eyes. "Family thing," he said, all typical teenage boy frustration. "I thought it was gonna suck but imagine my surprise when you walked onstage, Chris?" Meg bristled. That was her pet name for Christine.

Christine blushed. "Oh, Raoul - "

Raoul left, eventually, after two more rounds of cheek kissing and after extracting a promise for a replacement date from Christine. He had ignored Meg the whole time until Christine, apparently concerned for de Chagny's eyesight, had pointed her out. Death stares were revisited and Meg only breathed a sigh of relief when Raoul and his overpowering cologne had left the room.

"Thank God that's over," Meg sighed, sinking down in the spare chair by Christine's dressing table. Christine made a noise of assent as she brushed her hair.

"I just hoped Mr Renoir didn't see him, he hates me talking to guys." No sooner had the words left her mouth when the door burst open for a second time and this time, the figure in the doorway was not so much annoying as kind of scary. Christine froze and looked like a coronary event was imminent.

"Mr Renoir!" she gasped out, attempting a smile that looked kind of like her face was having a seizure. Meg thought it was adorable. "How did you think the performance went?" Her attempt at distracting him was laughable, even to Meg, who found Christine impossibly distracting most of the time.

Mr Renoir was having none of it.

"What was that boy doing here?" Mr Renoir asked in a voice like a gunshot wrapped in silk. Meg winced. No more English analysis for her. But Mr Renoir's voice was nothing to the expression in his eyes, the fierce bright wrath just waiting for a match to ignite it.

"He - I don't know, Erik, he just showed up - "

"You're lying!" Mr Renoir shouted, and Christine trembled. Meg was too distracted to notice, trying to work out when Christine had started to call Mr Renoir by his first name. "Don't lie to me, Christine. I know. You invited him here so you could go on your silly little date with him, isn't that right? You, alone with him, closeted in here like a little - "

"Hello, I'm here!" Meg snapped, waving her hands at the tall masked man. He didn't scare her anymore.

Actually, he really pissed her off. How dare he compare Christine to a slut?

"She did great tonight and all you care about is that some douchebag walked in - without knocking, by the way, just like you did - and asked her out on another date she clearly didn't want to go on but couldn't refuse without looking like a bitch and let me tell you, sunshine, Christine is the least bitchiest person I know so she was only being nice!" Meg finished, out of breath, and was totally unsurprised to see the masked man still glaring.

"Mademoiselle Giry," he drawled, folding his arms across his broad chest. Meg would have been paying attention, but at that moment a pretty girl walked past the window out in the corridor. "I don't recall inviting you into my presence. This time is for Christine and I to discuss her performance."

"Suck it, bitch," Meg snapped succinctly, and grabbing Christine's bag in one hand and her own satchel in the other, tugged her friend past the masked man before he could grab them back. Maybe he wouldn't. But then again, given the amount of time he spent getting handsy with Chris, it wouldn't surprise her. She dragged Chris out the back door of the theatre, down the street, and to the cafe that was thankfully still open. She texted her mother with where they were going as they walked; her mum wouldn't tell Mr Renoir their location until she had ascertained in person they were still there. They ordered their cappuccinos and settled into a sheltered corner booth.

Christine had been quiet and withdrawn and Meg had feared she'd overstepped her boundaries, but that thought was quickly subdued by her friend leaping into her arms. "Thank you thank you!" Christine practically squealed, hugging her tight. "That was amazing! I thought he'd lecture me all night!"

Meg shrugged. What else were friends for? But Christine was in raptures. Finally, she said, "It's cool, Chris," with a smile, amused at Christine's unusual Energiser Bunny-esque behaviour.

Christine's gaze sharpened, her eyes falling from where they met Meg's to just a little lower. She's not - oh, yes, hell she is - why is she staring at my lips?

Gently, almost too softly to be felt, Christine brushed her lips against Meg's. Meg thought she might combust and so instead did the only sensible thing, kissing her friend back and brushing a hand through the thick, wiry with hairspray curls. Christine sighed a little, a happy sigh that made Meg feel kind of like there were stars fluttering through her veins, and parted her lips.

Oh God oh God oh sweet fucking God -

A sudden noise outside drove them apart, Christine smoothing down her dress and Meg raking back her hair from her face. They smiled sheepishly at one another, Meg still trembling a little inside from kissing Christine. A moment later, their coffees arrived.

Meg's head was spinning. How on earth had she ever thought she felt only friendship for Chris? It was so much more. _Christine_ was so much more.

Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the night, past her mother's proud smile at Christine's triumph and Mr Renoir's scowls and home. Collapsing onto her bed in exhaustion would have been top of her list had it not been for the knowledge of Christine in the spare room down the hall - she hadn't wanted to disturb her father so late. The knowledge was pressure and heat and delicious pain all in one, and Meg felt impossibly awake despite the hour, blood humming in her veins, achingly alive. This was what youth was about, she felt, not TERs and being gossiped about and the new Panic! at the Disco album. Although that was pretty awesome.

It was time to draw a line in the sand.

Meg got up from her bed, stripped, and deliberately walked to the bathroom in bra and panties, past the open door of the spare room, and into the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she passed the spare room again, the door was closed. And that hurt, a little, but not enough to give her the courage to knock on the door. She had her pride, after all.

But when she got back to her own room, there Christine was, perched on the end of the bed in her pyjamas and wide eyed, her dark curls streaming over her shoulders. "Hey," Meg said, crossing her arms over her Batman bra, and Christine's smile, though faint, was there.

"Hey," she replied, eyes drifting down to Meg's bellybutton ring, and then back up. The subtle once-over was enough to make Meg's knees a little trembly.

"Comfy there?" Meg asked, but Christine wasn't in the mood for small talk. She kissed her, briefly but thoroughly, tongue sweet and stroking Meg's with an experience Meg hadn't known she possessed. When they parted, Christine sighed.

"I never thought I might be..."

"Gay?" Meg offered. "Bi? Playing for both teams, batting for the other side, queer as a three dollar bill?" That drew a smile out of her friend.

"Yeah," Christine agreed. "I mean, I've always thought you were beautiful, but..."

Meg felt weird and warm inside. "You've never wanted to jump my bones?"

"Something like that," Christine agreed again, and Meg was kind of dying to touch her again. "I don't think I'm ready to..."

"Come out?" Meg offered, and Christine nodded. That was understandable. Meg had had to kiss an awful lot of girls before finding the courage to be sure enough in her sexuality to tell people about it. "We could just... experiment. Everyone does that. Christ, even Katy Perry did it," she added, and was rewarded with a watery grin. "Just... come on, Chris. Don't be upset. It felt good, right?" she asked, almost a little afraid of the answer. What if it hadn't felt good? What if -

"Yeah," Christine replied. "I... I liked it." Tentatively, she stroked down Meg's hand and then up her arm, across her collarbone. Meg held her breath and tried to ignore the trail of fire left in the wake of Christine's fingers. There were equations drawn in her palm - Christine turned to maths when nervous. Meg wanted to laugh. Only she would fall for a girl who thought quadratic equations were relaxing. "Experiment," Christine repeated, and Meg wasn't sure whether it was an instruction or an agreement, but Christine leaned over and flicked off the bedside lamp, and Meg discovered that it was both.

_xx_

The problem was, once they'd started, it was kind of hard to stop.

Usually Meg and Christine spent their school day in a strict, regimented manner. Home group and then classes, recess and more classes, and lunch and finally more classes before gratefully slinking out the gates to go home. They would eat lunch together, discuss last night's episode of Neighbours, possibly go to a music room for Christine to practise a little before her music lesson. Nothing big.

But 'experimenting' changed all of that. Meg kind of couldn't be around her best friend without wanting to jump on her, but thankfully that sentiment seemed to be returned. They made out in the performing arts centre. They excused themselves early from PE to canoodle in the changing rooms. They stopped at the library before Christine's lessons after school so Meg could push her best friend up against the stacks, fingers in her hair, lips at her throat. Christine put her hand up Meg's skirt while they were driving to Mr Renoir's one day and Meg almost crashed them into a tree.

It was all very cliché high school romance, and Meg was overwhelmingly, deliriously happy with it. All that time she'd spent looking at Christine, and it turned out that touching Christine was so much more fucking awesome than looking. And Christine liked to be touched, liked to touch in return, and their sleepovers and movie nights and trips to the cinema became not so much two best friends hanging out as reasons to be together.

Mr Renoir had come round the day after the performance and apologised somewhat sheepishly in the Giry's kitchen. He had warned, however, that there needed to be no more boys, and Meg's comment later about her overwhelming joy in possessing a vagina had Christine in stitches. Christine, however, had at the time said a couple sweet things about Mr Renoir, and his genius, and how grateful she was for his tutelage, and his feathers had resettled and for now, at least, he was behaving himself. So Christine soothed Mr Renoir down from his towering rage and kept turning Raoul down for dates, and slowly life eased back into a sort of normal. The only difference was that Meg was no longer allowed to come inside Mr Renoir's house, because he really didn't like her now. Meg didn't care, because the weather was still warm enough to be outside; she sat on Mr Renoir's front lawn and basked in the sunshine. And, of course, the fact she was regularly getting it on with her best friend helped to alleviate any sensations of outrage or anger in that regard.

And maybe they could have gone on that way, but for their formal.

Their formal was early that year, in accordance with the school's belief that having it later in the year would distract the students too much from their studies. Meg didn't really care either way. It was just an excuse for girls to get pretty and boys to be macho, and for awkward dancing and parents taking photos and boring speeches. She discussed this, at length, with Christine, and if she noticed Chris getting quieter as the days ticked down towards formal - well. It wasn't like she was Christine's _girlfriend_ or anything, just her best mate, and she knew Chris well enough to know she'd talk about what was bothering her when she was ready.

And that day came, a scant two weeks before formal. Meg was sitting in the courtyard, enjoying the last vestiges of heat on her skin. Soon it would be winter, and she would enjoy the autumn warmth while she could.

A shadow loomed over her. "Hey, Chris," she said, shading her eyes to see Christine more clearly. Christine didn't reply. She looked agitated - actually, strike that. Meg had never seen Christine quite so distressed about something. She opened and closed her mouth a handful of times, hands moving in a dance of desperation. "Spit it out, Christine," Meg said with amusement, and Christine actually wrung her hands, before dropping awkwardly down on one knee. "What the fuck, Chris?"

"Doyouwanttogotoformalwithme?" Christine blurted out, and Meg resorted the query, adding spaces until she ended up with -

"Oh my God." Christine sat down next to her, thumping onto the pavement.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"Didn't Raoul ask you?" Meg wondered, and Christine shrugged.

"Yeah," she replied, unfazed. "Raoul, Anatole, Andrew, Rick, and Joe. I said no."

"Why?" Meg asked, dizzy. This was weird. This was fantastic and awesome but honestly, really fucking weird.

"I want to go with you," Christine whispered, almost shy. Of course shy. Christine was a shy girl.

"Chris," Meg said carefully, trying to ignore the joyous thrumming coming awake in her chest. "You know, if we go together... everyone will know. What we're doing."

Christine looked her friend in the eyes, and smiled dreamily, reaching for Meg's hand. "That's the point," she murmured.

And fuck, Meg could live with that.

_xx_

Meg wore black and defiantly affixed a bow tie to her throat in lieu of a necklace; Christine wore sky blue and looked like a goddess, in Meg's humble opinion. Christine's dad dropped her at Meg's and Meg's mum took a thousand photos, going quiet when Meg pulled out the artificial corsage from the refrigerator and put in on Christine's wrist.

"You and Christine..." Antoinette trailed off as Christine went to reapply lipstick. "You're dating?"

"It's complicated, Mum," Meg sighed, and was surprised when her mother wrapped her in a spontaneous hug.

"I think it's lovely," her mother assured her, and Meg felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When Meg strode through the doors with Christine on her arm, the whole room went quiet. The formal was being held at a local function centre, and the committee had done an epic job of turning it into a wonderland of sorts, turning a room where bankers and accounts usually sat into a place for teenagers to grind up against one another.

Meg amused herself by cataloguing the reactions of her classmates to their entrance on one another's arm. Most appeared just surprised, as opposed to the handful that looked totally flabbergasted and the dozen or so who looked outraged. Christians. Raoul de Chagny appeared to have just dropped his glass of punch on his date's dress, and Meg quietly laughed until her sides hurt. The stares would have bothered her, but she had Christine on her arm, the prettiest girl in the universe, and nothing else mattered.

"You know on Monday, we're going to be in trouble for this," Meg murmured into Christine's ear as they passed their principal, his jaw slack. Christine turned her head to nibble lightly at Meg's own ear.

"But it's Friday now," she purred, and Meg would have been surprised at such a seductive manoeuvre coming from Christine had she not known already that Chris's pretty face hid quite the dirty mind.

They shared their table with Celia and her boyfriend Steve, Sarah and Michael, theatre geeks, Sierra and Ramin, who even Meg had to agree made a cute couple, Gerard and Emmy, who couldn't keep their hands off each other, and Andrew and Rick, who were holding hands. "Didn't they ask you to formal?" Meg asked Christine, who just smiled.

"I... might have told them to ask each other," she whispered back. Meg just shook her head. Her best friend was a genius.

The dancing was getting into full swing when Raoul de Chagny dropped down beside Meg. She raised an eyebrow at him as she sipped her non-alcoholic champagne. His tie was loosened and he stared out at Christine on the dance floor with something like longing. Meg felt a little sorry for him. She knew how it felt to want Christine and not be able to have her - or, at least, to feel like she wasn't able to have her.

"She looks happy," Raoul decided, and Meg nodded. Christine was dancing with Rick and Andrew, and although every so often she shot Meg a hopeful smile, Meg was having none of it. Meg would do many things for Christine, but she would not dance the Nutbush.

"I'm not prepared to give up on her, you know," Raoul said abruptly, turning to pin her with his startlingly bright eyes. Meg grinned.

"Wouldn't expect you to," she replied, and the two clinked glasses. Meg caught sight of her date, high kicking and clapping, and decided abruptly, fuck it, and joined Christine on the floor.

And so went the night. The speeches came later, and awards; silly little trifles that made everyone laugh and some of the girls cry. (Christine did. Meg didn't, but it was a good excuse to wrap her arm around Christine and let her rest her head on Meg's shoulder.) It was over shortly after that and Celia, maybe feeling guilty about gossiping about Meg early in the year, spontaneously invited them to her after party. Celia notoriously had a big house, frequently absent parents, and a key to their liquor cabinet. It was no contest, really.

Somewhere around 2am Meg stumbled out the front door of the Bew's, head dizzy from smoke and tequila fumes. Christine was hot on her heels, a little unsteady but smiling wildly in a way that left Meg even dizzier. Christine caught her and kissed her, hard, pushing her against the Bew's ornamental letterbox, the only sound their harsh breathing and the slide of skin on skin until two boys staggered out from the garage, one decidedly inebriated, one not.

"Ooh, the lezzos are puttin' on a show?" Damian (Meg's history class, she thought) slurred; Ryan (from double English), hauling his drunk best friend over his shoulder, shot them an apologetic look. "How much to watch?"

"Like you could afford us," Christine shot back, stunning Meg and earning an amused smirk from Ryan and a drunken leer from Damian. Meg watched them retreat towards Ryan's battered Commodore and stretched, looking over at Christine thoughtfully.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"We could go home," Christine suggested, leaning up against the letterbox and then slipping sideways to stretch out on the lawn.

"Yeah," Meg agreed, but she wasn't agreeing. "I told my mum I was going to stay at your house tonight," Meg said deliberately, and Christine went still.

"I told my dad I would stay at yours," Christine replied softly, and when Meg yanked out her phone to dial a cab, Christine leaned back on the grass and laughed joyously up at the sky.

The Jolly Swagman was one of the few decent hotels in their area, despite the somewhat corny name. Meg crossed her fingers and hoped they'd have an opening even as the cab chugged along and she pulled Christine into her lap, nuzzling her nose into her throat dreamily. Christine smelled like Estee Lauder and L'Oreal and Clinique and like herself, eau de Christine, best fragrance in the world.

She replaced her nose with her lips and Christine whimpered, the sound going straight between Meg's legs. The kind Indian cabman did his best to keep his eyes forward and Meg thanked God it was only a short journey, paying the fare and racing up the steps to the Swagman with Christine at her side.

"Any rooms left?" she asked the guy at reception, a young man probably only a handful of years older than her and Christine. The boy looked them up and down, at the blooming hickey on Christine's throat and their linked hands, and grinned. Meg, seeing the discreet earring in his right ear and the rainbow rubber band around his wrist, grinned back, and when she tugged Christine into the room and discovered they'd been upgraded, she laughed and laughed.

She felt deliciously alive, the alcohol in her system keeping her lucid rather than making her fuzzy. Christine dropped her purse the moment they entered the room and it made a suspicious clunking sound; Meg arched an eyebrow. Christine pulled out a half full bottle of vodka nicked from Celia's. Christine's mischievous smile caused weird things to occur in Meg's chest. It was moment like these that made her love being with Christine so much.

"Chuck it in the mini-fridge," she said, kicking off her stiletto heels with a sigh of pure joy. Christine had already taken hers off and was tugging out her earrings with an expression of relief. It was moments like this that Meg really appreciated being a lesbian, the sensation of utter contentment that occurred when her partner was so similar to her and yet so different. Or maybe it was just Christine.

She looked up and was surprised to see Christine only a few feet away. Meg smiled and opened her arms, pulling her close. "Christine?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm so glad we went to formal."

"Me too."

Falling onto the bed was the easy part; finding the way into one another arms even more so. They were old hands at this by now, having been 'experimenting' for just over two months and every time Christine touched her, Meg still felt sparks. Usually they were stealing moments, frantic to have just one more minute of one another's touch before going back to pretending, but here the attitude was changed. Here it was just lazy, sweet making out, kissing like kissing in itself was the end goal. Until Meg started toying with Christine's zipper, and Chris's hands started playing with the straps of Meg's dress, and then -

And then it was just a rollercoaster, a semitrailer flying down a hill at a hundred kays an hour, the universe contracting to their tiny room with the ugly curtains. Christine was fumbling at Meg's bra and this was as far as they'd ever been, and her panties were sticking to her skin and -

And the door to their hotel room flew inwards. Christine shrieked and Meg might have kind of yelped, both of them scrabbling for discarded clothes that were strewn around the room.

Meg might have sworn. _Fucking_ Mr Renoir. What was with this dude and barging in uninvited?

But gradually Meg noticed something was wrong. In between cursing him and covering her mostly naked body, Meg noticed there was something distinctly wrong about the way Mr Renoir was looking at Christine. Christine was still in bra and panties, hair tousled and lips swollen, make up just beginning to smear. She looked debauched and in Meg's opinion, pretty damn delicious.

Well. Evidently in Mr Renoir's opinion too, because he was staring at Christine's bare skin like it was all he'd ever dreamed about. Like he could just stalk over and take Meg's place on the bed with Christine because he wanted her so much. It was freaky. Meg reached instinctively, protectively, over towards Christine and that was enough to draw his attention away from the other girl. But when his electricity eyes turned to Meg she felt more horrified than relieved, and she covered her breasts out of shock and yeah, OK, a little anger. How fucking dare he walk in here without knocking? She jumped from the bed, snapping on her bra with quick, furious motions.

"I thought you were with that boy," Mr Renoir began in a slow, toneless voice. "I imagined it, you know, a thousand times. A form of self-punishment, if you will. Torture. I never - never imagined... How long, Christine?" he snarled, taking one menacing step forward. His voice had gone from a controlled blankness and was edging into wild fury. For a moment Meg was terrified, and then she snapped out of it. He was just a guy, after all. He couldn't do shit. "How long have you been engaging in this, this disgusting liaison - " His voice cracked and he made to turn away. Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw Christine shrink into herself, and Meg clenched her fists. No one talked to her girl that way. No fucking one.

"You're the disgusting one!" Meg screamed without being particularly aware of what she was saying, advancing on the stunned masked man. "Christine is beautiful the way she is without anyone changing her and if you really loved her, you'd accept her the way she is and what she is my fucking _girlfriend_ , so back off!" She shoved him hard on the chest, and then once more when he refused to move. "Get out of here before I call the fucking cops on you for breaking and entering, and assault and battery and - " She was running out of words. Hell, she didn't even know what assault and battery were, other than sexual assault was unwanted touching and batteries went in vibrators, but she'd heard the words on a Law and Order: SVU rerun a couple years back. Whatever they meant, Mr Renoir beat a hasty retreat.

The silence was deafening, and Meg had no idea what to say. Christine was staring sadly at the kicked in door. "You think they'll give us another room?" Meg asked for the sake of having something to say, and was shocked by Christine's laughter, bubbling up slowly from the other girl as though she'd forgotten how. Meg was a little worried for her sanity, but decided if the whole world was going to go mad, she might as well jump on the bandwagon.

"Christine!" she said. "This whole fucking around business isn't working for me. I don't want to experiment with you anymore," she managed, and then backpedalled wildly at the heartbroken expression on Christine's face. "No, not like that! I..." Should she? Would she? Fuck yeah. "I love you, Christine. I. Love. You," she emphasised. "Not your voice, or whatever - I'd love you if you didn't have one. Not that I want you to be mute, or anything - oh, fuck, I'm bollocksing this up," she muttered. But Christine was smiling. That had to be a good sign. "And I want to be your girlfriend. For real." Meg was struck by how ridiculous this was. Two half naked girls, in a hotel room with a kicked in door and nosy occupants of the other rooms peering in. Meg felt kind of ridiculous, but she also really fucking didn't care. "Well?" she demanded.

However emo it sounded, she thought she might die if Christine didn't reply in kind. Luckily...

"I love you," Christine said all in a rush, her thin arms hugging Meg to her with all her strength, or so it felt. "I love you because you're beautiful and sweet and strong and - for fuck's sake, Meg, you're my best friend. You always have spare tampons and you buy me chocolate and hug me when I'm down. You understand me. For crying out loud, babe, how could I love anyone else?"

And yeah, OK. Meg could totally live with that.


End file.
